


Schnee Family Values

by Citron_Swiftvale



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Cock Slapping, Come Swallowing, Crossdressing, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, F/M, Face-Fucking, Incest, Masturbation, Mother-Son Relationship, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Tears, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Vomiting, painal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Citron_Swiftvale/pseuds/Citron_Swiftvale
Summary: With his father in prison and his sisters absent, Whitley Schnee spends some quality time with his mother.
Relationships: Whitley Schnee & Willow Schnee
Kudos: 21





	Schnee Family Values

Whitley had no need to sneak around anymore to get into his sisters’ rooms. After his father’s arrest for rigging the last election, Whitley had turned off the intrusive surveillance systems and dismissed the servants, while his mother had locked herself in her own chambers. Willow Schnee hardly ever left that room and Whitley had grown used to her absence. In fact, he’d grown used to the absence of everyone.

He still felt his heart pounding when he entered Weiss’s bedroom despite no one possibly being here to see or stop him. It was maintained just as it had been when Wiess was still there: the same photos, sheets, and the same clothes.

They’d abandoned him: his mother for alcohol, Winter Schnee for the military, Weiss to be a huntress. Left him the sole target for Jacques’s manipulation and abuse.

His only relief...

His breath caught when he opened the drawer. It still felt...wrong to lust after his sisters like this. Especially Weiss, who had despised him the most. But it was also wrong of them to leave him behind as well, and if this was the only connection he could have to Weiss, then so be it.

The only thing he wished was that she had left behind something that she’d worn so he could smell it.

Instead, he made do with pulling off his clothes and slipping into the silky white panties his sister might have worn once; they strained against his penis since they weren’t designed to hold one. He made do with enjoying the smooth feeling of her white stockings as he rolled them up his legs, and the cool feeling of her gown after he raided her wardrobe.

He looked at himself in the mirror and imagined Weiss there, watching him, He closed his eyes and imagined it was Weiss’s fingers, not his own, that slipped up the dress and started stroking his penis, making the bulge thicken as the panties struggled against him. Whitley imagined Weiss whispering in his ear, “I love you.”

But it wasn’t Weiss’s voice that unsteadily asked, “Whitley? What...what are you doing?”

His eyes snapped open and he cursed. How had he not heard the door? But he swore he had locked it! Yet when he turned around, he saw Willow with a glass of wine in one hand and a key in the other.

“Get out!” Whitley shouted.

His white-haired mother stared at him. Even drunk as she constantly was, she still had a handsome, stately look to her. Her glassy eyes showed a flash of concern.

“Whitley, those are Weiss’s clothes,” she whispered. She shut the door behind her, put the key on an end table, and came closer. Her dress rustled softly against the rugs and tiles.

Whitley’s cheeks were heating up. When had she left her room? Why was she _here_?

“And you have an erection,” she continued, no emotion to her voice, just stating an obvious fact. “My dear boy, what has happened to you?”

“Don’t call me _that_ ,” Whitley spat, sitting heavily on Weiss’s bed and burying his head in his hands. She reached a hand out to his cheek and he slapped it away. “Don’t _touch me_.”

“Whitley...”

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re just a _drunk_.”

Willow paused, taken aback, then looked guiltily at the wine she still held and had so carefully kept from spilling.

“You let Jacques do whatever he wanted to us, to _me_ , and just went to your room and drank. You didn’t even try to stop Weiss or Winter from leaving, and you let me take the brunt of it. You thought I wouldn’t turn out like this?”

“I... Whitley, I...” Willow trailed off before she could say anything complete. After a moment of silence passed between them, she raised the glass to her lips.

“Fuck! There you go again!” Whitley said, tossing his hands up in the air. “Why did you come here, mom? So I could watch you _drink_?”

She stared at the glass as if it were a foreign object and gently placed it on the nightstand. Her hand had an unsteady quiver to it, and then she slowly sat down beside her son. “I wanted to see you, Whitley. I was lonely.”

“And what do you think I’ve been, all this time?” he said, bunching up Weiss’s dress in his fists and feeling tears starting to well up.

“Come here,” Willow said, awkwardly reaching out to him and bringing him into a hug. He could smell the alcohol in her breath mixed with her perfume; her hands felt cold and clammy, but he still clung to her, and her body felt warm, comforting. “You shouldn’t take your sisters’ things,” she said quietly as she leaned her head against Whitley’s. “Haven’t I told you that before?”

This was the closest his mother had ever been to him in a long time. She had rarely shown him any physical intimacy since he was a toddler, before the drinking had begun. Whitley gripped her more tightly, and then involuntarily felt his penis stiffen again. _Oh Dust_ , he thought. _Am I really this far gone?_ But she was the woman who gave birth to Winter and Weiss, after all. If he found their bodies so intoxicating, why wouldn’t he have the same reaction to hers?

“You abandoned us. They abandoned me. I love them and they hate me,” Whitley said, choking back a sob.

“Oh, my dear boy. I didn’t know you were like...like this. What can I do for you? How can I ever make it up to you?”

Her voice sounded too distant to be genuine, like Willow thought it was what she should say in the wine-induced haze in which she spent her days, rather than anything she actually meant. Whitley found himself beginning to get angry again, angry at Willow for what she’d done, angry at himself for desiring her affection; especially angry at himself for getting an erotic charge from her presence. His hold on her grew even tighter, more desperate, and he felt her resist once she became aware his erection was pressing against her. But he wouldn’t let her pull away.

“Mom,” he said into her ear, “we don’t have to be lonely.”

He took her by the wrist and guided her hand under the dress he wore. Willow let him, her fingers brushing against Weiss’s panties, against his cock pushing painfully against the fabric.

“Whitley, you’ve grown so much,” she said with a dreamy air.

Something snapped in him then. He wriggled out of her arms and sprung to his feet as if she had slapped him, “You’ll let your own son do that to you?” he shrieked. “How drunk are you?”

She stared at him in shock, her mouth gawking as if she had something to say, but no words came out. Her gaze went to her hands, folded in her lap, face full of shame. He saw tears starting to form in her eyes. “I just want you to love me again,” she said quietly.

“All right, _mother_ ,” he said harshly, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her off the bed and onto the ground so she was down on her knees. He lifted Weiss’s dress and shoved his crotch into her face. “Make me love you.”

He’d gotten through her glassy expression, he saw with satisfaction. Maybe she’d grow a backbone and stop this horrible test he was putting her through. But instead, she reached out a shaky hand and pulled down Weiss’s panties. Whitley’s cock sprang out of confinement and she regarded it with a kind of clinical fascination. The sight enraged him, and he grabbed hold of his shaft and smacked it against the top of her head, against her cheeks and chin, making her wince.

“Who am I?!” he yelled at her.

“You’re my dear little boy,” she said quietly.

He slapped her across the face with his cock again. “Yes. I’m your son. I want you know that you are doing this _with your son._ ” His erection was stiff enough to make sure Weiss’s bunched-up dress didn’t fall now, and he placed his hands on either side of Willow’s head, contracting his fingers so he had a firm grip on her hair. He steered her towards his penis, rubbing the pale pink head against her lips. “Look at me,” he demanded, watching her discomfort. She tilted her head up to him, reflecting his look of anguish in her deep blue eyes, and opened her mouth.

He pushed against her tongue, forcing her captive head closer as he went past her teeth and into the warm interior of Willow’s mouth. He rested it there a moment, savouring the feel of her breath tickling his bare skin, then thrust his hips forward and savoured even more the expression on her face as he invaded her throat. Her eyes bulged wide and she tried pulling back, but Whitley didn’t let her, cutting off her windpipe as she dry-heaved around his cock and her cheeks bulged. She made horrible choking noises, saliva leaking from her lips, but he kept pushing, sliding down her convulsing gullet until his testicles touched her bottom lip. He held her there while she let out muffled cries around his cock, then released his grip on her hair and watched her fall back, coughing and sputtering while his penis shone with her spit.

He didn’t let her recover for long. “No,” she said breathlessly as he grabbed her hair again and pulled her up on her knees, then cut off any further words with his dick. He plowed at her throat without mercy, opening her gullet and pushing his shaft up and down her esophagus while she moaned and choked and shuddered. She clawed at her neck, desperately trying to get a breath in, and he didn’t let her. Whitley could hear and feel a rumbling deep inside her, and withdrew his cock just in time for her to spit out a stream of vomit. It splashed against his penis and on the floor, dirtying Weiss’s dress and panties in the process.

Whitley watched her gulp in deep breaths with a wide grin. “I hope that got some alcohol out of your system,” he said, and before she could reply he caught her up and continued face-fucking her, shovelling her vomit back down her throat. It couldn’t last much longer, though.

Despite his rough handling of Willow, he was still a virgin, and he had already been getting off on the feeling of wearing his sister’s clothes. He managed two more strokes before burying himself as deep as he could go and yelling out, “Mother!” as he burst. He squeezed her head between his hands and unleashed jet after jet of sperm while she gargled and flailed, his cock throbbing powerfully every time. When the last of his spray subsided, he let go and she drew back, expelling white goo from her mouth in yet another coughing fit. It leaked down her vest and her blouse; her chin became a pearly mess. Whitley also stumbled back onto the bed, watching her struggles on the floor.

“Does your son really taste so awful?” he asked, just to see what she’d say.

Her wide blue eyes met his, again, and she seemed to have sobered, but she wasn’t looking at him with the hatred he had expected. Instead, her gaze seemed tinged with sadness.

“Do you want to stop?” Whitley no longer spoke with his earlier cruelty, at last hit with the enormity of what he’d just done.

Willow regarded him a moment longer, then shook her head. “No,” she croaked. “We can’t...we can’t stop.”

Had she said yes, he would have fled, already ashamed. But Willow hadn’t said yes. He felt the blackness stirring in his chest again, and it transferred to his loins. “Do you think this somehow proves you love me?” 

“I’ve always loved you, Whitley,” she said while still on her knees, as if in prayer.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he said, walking behind her. She obeyed, raising her slim hips into the air as Whitley hiked up her skirt and admired her shapely legs clad in brown garters, her garter belt, and the black lingerie she wore over her backside. He realized that besides the bags and slight wrinkles around her eyes from years of alcoholism, Willow had held up well, her nearly ivory-white skin still unblemished after all these years, her face still beautiful had he not ruined it with his seed. It would be hard to guess her exact age as a stranger, since like Whitley her hair had always been white. Her figure resembled Winter’s, and he found himself pressing his fingers into her buttocks, kneading her globes gently and staring at how the fabric of her panties stretched and warped with each movement.

“Did Jacques ever fuck you in the ass?” Whitley asked.

“No, never,” Willow answered, her face resting against the rug. “Why would you ask me such a thing...?”

“You know why,” Whitley pressed her butt cheeks together, fascinated as the black material disappeared between them. “I don’t want to go where Jacques has already been. You’re probably so loose there after having three children. But if you’re a virgin here.” He pressed a thumb against her anus, tracing a circle through the silk and noting how Willow positively jumped at his touch. “I’ve never had sex before tonight. So I want us both to give our firsts.”

He wanted to hear Willow object. Instead, his mother audibly swallowed and in a small voice said, “Okay.”

Whitley grabbed hold of the back of her panties and pulled them to the side, revealing his pussy clad in snow-white pubic hair and the pucker of her asshole. Drawn to it, he knelt and flicked it with his tongue, getting another small jump out of his mother. He smiled and stood up again, crouching so that he loomed over Willow below him and shifted Weiss’s dress so it fell behind the two of them. His mother was prone, caught between Whitley’s legs on either side of her torso, the fabric of the stockings he wore sliding against her vest. He used his hands to spread her cheeks apart, pressing his thumbs on either side of her anus so he could stretch the skin around it, and then without warning lowered himself. The head of his penis briefly kissed her rosebud, straining as his shaft bent, and then with all his weight behind it, it popped inside.

Willow screamed.

Whitley made no pretense of letting his mother get used to the foreign object forcing its way inside of her. He bent his knees and sunk down, further and further, as her body tried to escape him. Soon she was flat on the floor, her knees giving way, and fully trapped as Whitley bore down on her. He was not satisfied until he’d driven his cock up to its full length in her burning insides, reveling in the feeling of her trying to expel him at every turn. It was painful for him, too, her inner organs wrapped so achingly tight around his penis, but he didn’t care. Her long, hoarse screams were enough encouragement until his testicles rested against her thighs. His hands roved from her torso up to her shoulders, squeezing the sides of her breasts first, and he brought his head beside hers so he could speak in Willow’s ear. “Who am I?” he asked again.

Her body squirmed beneath him, but her screams had subsided into a laboured panting. He could see tears coming out of her eyes. “Don’t make me say it.” She whispered.

He drew back, getting a low moan of pain from his mother, and then gave a sharp, brutal thrust, eliciting another scream. “Who am I?”

“Please,” she sobbed.

He lifted his hips up again, enjoying the sound of her insides sucking and squelching in response, and speared her against the floor again with his cock. “Who am I, mother?” he demanded.

“My darling little boy!”

He rejoiced in the words, resting his hands on her shoulder blades as he slid up his legs so he was on his knees again and in a better position to pummel her asshole. He began rolling his hips, fucking her in a frenzy that made her yelp and beat her fists against the floor.

“Who’s fucking your dirtiest place right now?” he asked breathlessly, twisting and pivoting his body so he would take her from a new angle each stroke, his rhythm always interrupted by her innards rebelling at his invasion and needing to force his way past the new barriers while tears poured from his mother’s eyes.

“My. Darling. Little. Boy. My. Darling. Little. Boy,” she screamed out each word each time he bucked against her, making it a mantra and starting from the top, trying to keep pace as he went at her faster and faster.

He had lost all sense of what he was doing, overcome with animal lust, and only snapped back to reality when the words his mother babbled changed to a long, high-pitched moan of “Whitley!” as her body shook uncontrollably. Her insides contracted even tighter, her toes curled in her boots, her arms writhed in erratic movements and then she subsided, twitching and taking in big gulps of air.

Whitley had given his mother an orgasm.

“You came from your own son fucking you in the ass,” he said, half in disbelief.

She didn’t answer, but he saw her cheeks glowing red.

“Did you ever come that hard for Jacques?”

“Don’t ask me that,” she replied, still in tears.

“Did you ever come that hard _for my father_?”

“No,” she admitted, burying her face in her hands.

“Good,” he said in satisfaction, and renewed sawing his cock in and out of her, not even giving her a chance to catch her breath. He pushed her forward, making her raise her buttocks up again so he could jackhammer her even further, but it didn’t take long for him to feel a tightening in his swaying testicles as his sack smacked meatily against his mother’s pussy.

“Mother. I—I love you!” he blurted as he unleashed a second wave of sperm into her ass, coating the walls of her bowels with his seed. She yelped at the new feeling of getting filled by her son, no longer crying as she became a willing receptacle for his cum.

Whitley stayed in her backside a little while longer, then slid out his cock. Her anus gaped open on exit, a dribble of white sperm sliding out as well. On a whim, Whitley got up on shaky legs and grabbed Willow’s wine glass before bringing it under her butt.

“Push,” he said softly.

It took a few seconds, but he could tell her body was tensing, and then there was a thin sound of escaping gas and his seed and other juices sprayed out of her butt and into the remainder of the wine. It floated there in grotesque globules. Whitley gently cradled his mother up from the floor so she was sitting down, and then he pressed the rim of the glass against her lips.

“You didn’t finish your wine,” he said.

She stared down into the glass in horror.

“Don’t you want it?” he asked, tipping it upwards so that the new cocktail began sliding down the edges.

Willow shook her head mutely, only for Whitley to force her mouth open with his other hand. He poured the concoction into her mouth, pressing her lips closed once she had it all, and stared into her eyes. With a frightened nod, Willow swallowed.

They both collapsed after that, staring up at the ceiling with blank looks, Whitley still in Weiss’s dress and Willow with her skirt still flipped up and her legs spread, both of them covered in varying amounts of her vomit. The son reached out a hand and grasped his mother’s, and she intertwined her fingers with his.

Whitley, without even realizing it, had begun crying, letting out shaking sobs as he lay there. “I’m sorry you had to have such a fucked-up son.”

“I was a terrible mother,” Willow said. “But I _am_ your mother. I will always love you, no matter...no matter what you do to me.”

She squeezed his hand reassuringly, and he rolled over and embraced her, smothering her face in his tears.

**Author's Note:**

> Yuck.


End file.
